EPILOGUE
The next few days went more smoothly than I could have hoped.
I told the LAPD everything about that night. About being kidnapped, about our life and death struggle, and about April plunging to her death. I also told them that April Devers had admitted to participating in the murders of David Devers, Eddie Sykes, and Harry Shoe.
With me giving them suspects, the LAPD was now able to review all the video footage they’d collected and identify specific makes of automobiles.
By the end of the day, they showed me a still frame. They said this person was driving near David Devers’s house on the night he was killed and had taped over his license plate, which had made them very suspicious.
Even though he was wearing a terrible wig, I was easily able to confirm it was Eddie.
They told me they had video of him a few minutes before the killing, and also a few minutes after the killing, fleeing the area.
It sounded like a slam dunk.
I can’t believe I’d married such an utter scumbag.
Similarly, the following day, they found a video of April Devers driving near the Little League field on both the night Eddie was killed and the night before the gun used to kill Eddie had been found.
She’d surely planted it in hopes of it being found, thus framing me. I still didn’t know how she’d transferred my fingerprints to the gun, but Detective Abbott had a theory.
“Your husband’s car was there. Maybe she collected a sample from the passenger side door.”
It was a solid theory. It was nice to hear the LAPD was finally doing some good police work.
I was trying ever so hard to give them the benefit of the doubt, now that they were on my side.
They were also much more courteous, and dare I say deferential, now that they knew all I’d been through on the night in question.
Margie Hoya rolled over on April in a New York minute, and they found April’s car and cell phone.
Once they knew she’d parked there, they found cameras showing her walking to my house.
They hadn’t yet found evidence of April being near the Santa Monica Pier on the night Harry Shoe was killed, but I was sure it was just a matter of time. Once the police have their claws in you, they will tighten over time, and there’s no getting away.
Not that April Devers was still with us.
After less than thirty-six hours, I was completely exonerated, and the case against me was dropped, even though they hadn’t even officially set a trial date. They had charged me with murder, however, and those charges were also dropped—with extensive apologies from everyone involved.
It’s the least they could do.
The local media had run with the story the moment they found out that there were two women in a car, headed toward a cliff, and only one got out alive.
I had to admit. I could see why people were riveted.
It probably didn’t hurt that this took place on the cliffs above Malibu, as scenic a place as you could imagine.
It also didn’t hurt that my husband, David Devers, and Harry Shoe had all been murdered. This truly was a crazy Hollywood story.
It had been the lead story on KTLA every night since my kidnapping. One anchor even said she’d be shocked if this wasn’t a made-for-TV movie sometime in the future.
No thanks.
As for me, physically, I recovered within a few days.
My face had several bruises, and my wrists were all scraped up due to being in handcuffs for over five hours, but nothing was permanent.
The mental bruises would be tougher to recover from, but I was doing surprisingly well so far.
If I never saw a Taser the rest of my life, I’d be fine with that.
My parents had arrived at the police station at six a.m. on that first morning.
They were rightfully scared, but just happy that I was alive.
I was grateful I’d been able to call them from the phone of Tim LaSalle—he of the cool last name. If they’d just seen April’s “suicide” text pretending to be me without my follow-up phone call, they would have been inconsolable.
During one of my many breaks with the LAPD that morning, my parents walked into the interrogation room, and the waterworks that followed could have flooded the Los Angeles basin.
I got a call from Mia Gunn telling me she’d spoken with the head honchos and that if I wanted to be back on the Winona Savage case when it resumed, the job was mine.
With all that had happened, I needed a little more time. A little more Lucy time.
“I’ll catch them on the next one,” I said.
Mia laughed, amused by my comment.
It had now been a week since my nightmarish evening with April Devers. I was trying to think about her less and less. She didn’t deserve space in my head.
Considering everything, I was pretty happy. It could have been so much worse.
I could have been dead. My parents could have been dead.
Instead, I’d lived to fight another day. Another year. Another decade.
I was still a young woman, with my whole life ahead of me.
I wasn’t going to let one rough patch in my life determine my happiness going forward.
Even though it was one hell of a rough patch!
On Thursday—or was it Friday—I headed down to the local supermarket. The days had started running together.
One guy hit on me, asking me if I preferred Cheerios or Honey Nut Cheerios. We both knew what he was doing, but I didn’t take the bait. Sorry, Random Guy at the supermarket, you picked the wrong time to hit on yours truly.
I took my time shopping, eventually picking up all the ingredients for some grilled cheeses and tomato soup. My parents always had me over, and it was my turn to return the favor. They were coming over tonight.
And while I might not have been the best cook in the family—my mother held that honor—I could make a mean grilled cheese and tomato soup.
When I was done shopping, I headed to the register.
After my credit card was processed, the woman behind the counter looked up at me. She had very compassionate, light blue eyes.
I couldn’t tell if she recognized me from the news or was just being nice.
“Have a nice day,” she said.
I paused, taking a moment to soak in what was usually just a throwaway line.
“You know what. I think I will.”